


no intimacy greater than distance | jarry

by lockedinmybody



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedinmybody/pseuds/lockedinmybody
Summary: It’s cruel and tempting at the same time, realising he would have wanted Harry by his side, but the sting of Harry not choosing him burns through his chest.And now he has nothing. He hasn’t heard from either Harry or Romeo, and James has almost convinced himself that it’s better this way.***It burns in his hollow chest, and Harry has never missed James more. They often lay awake at the same time, staring at the ceiling, and they are in each other thoughts more than once per night.or, five times James and Harry were close to each other without knowing it, plus one time they did know.





	no intimacy greater than distance | jarry

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i'm incredibly excited for harry to return (soon!) and i had this idea in my head ever since he left, so i hope you enjoy it!  
> please leave a comment and let me know what you thought, or come and find me on [tumblr](https://softlofty.tumblr.com/):)
> 
> TW: mild and short description of rape.

I

Life goes on. It’s strange, given that James genuinely thought this would be something he would not bounce back from, but it feels like he has. After the debacle on Harry’s wedding day, it does not take him long to realise Harry has left. It only takes a day for Ste to spit it in his face regardless.  
_“He’s gone. And he won’t come running back to you this time.”_  
He hasn’t seen Romeo since that day either. Every now and then it pulls at the back of his head, thoughts of being a father swirling around, not something to fear anymore but a reality, whether he likes it or not.  
There’s some kind of twisted irony to the fact that he has a son, whilst having a father himself who bruised his homophobic disgust onto his ribcage. A genetic line James had never imagined himself continuing, knowing he carries the product of Mac’s hatred and abuse within himself, not wanting to be responsible for bringing a person into this world who contains that as well. 

It’s easy to go back to that moment, sitting at the kitchen table, itching and wanting to jump out of his skin, tear it to shreds so that there would be nothing left of what Mac ruined with his touch.  
The footsteps down the stairs, the waft of cheap perfume drifting by him again as it did minutes ago, burning his nostrils and watering his eyes when that woman was closer than James ever wanted her to be, taking something from him that was never hers. The beat of silence as his mother turned to his father, now understanding what had happened. The way he desperately wanted to disappear. The gloating pull around his father’s mouth. He had heard it so many times, the sizzling hiss in his ear. _I wish you had never been born._ That night, James fully understood. 

The whole thing made James’ brain short-circuit. It felt impossible to connect the lines between having a son the way he did and not hating him, looking at him whilst not tasting acid in his mouth, talking about him without remnants of that night rising in his throat. And on top of all that, what kind of father would James be? With what he is, what Mac made him, putting himself first was the only way to survive. The only way James could bear to look in the mirror some days. Romeo didn’t need a dad like that in his life. 

He doesn’t mean to, but his thoughts drift to Harry. His eyes move away from his file and instead stare at the wall. How different would that night have been, if Harry had been by his side? He could have called Harry after lashing out at Romeo, shaky fingers hovering over the call button for a few seconds but then going through with it.  
He could have sat on the couch, numb and cold, and he would hear the front door open, Harry by his side in seconds. Warm hands cradling his own, one look at James’ face and then pulling him in, Harry shifting so that James could let the tears fall against Harry’s chest. They could have sat like that for hours. Harry would have been understanding enough, would have had the patience to sit and wait until James was ready, even if it had taken days. 

It’s cruel and tempting at the same time, realising he would have _wanted_ Harry by his side, but the sting of Harry not choosing him burns through his chest.  
And now he has nothing. He hasn’t heard from either Harry or Romeo, and James has almost convinced himself that it’s better this way. He keeps himself busy with work, his days crammed so full with meetings, running from an office to a prison holding cell and back again. He takes on cases he rejected months ago, still sitting on the shelf because no other lawyer had wanted to get their hands dirty. 

There’s little more to it than a routine he keeps repeating over and over again, walking through the necessary steps to do his job, and everything about it is so blissfully callous and detached it makes him wish he could be like that forever. The past months had been so hectic and dramatic, and James was feeling _too much_. He’s not used to this, he can’t handle it. He had let warmth and affection seep through the cracks, had given it to the one person who gave him the same in return, and with him being gone James now had to do what was necessary for himself to heal.  
Most days, the only people he spoke to were his clients, and occasionally his mum. 

He leaves his house one morning, on his way to meet with a client. It’s a relatively open-and-shut case, someone who is fed up with their job and got injured at their place of work, now wanting to take their boss for every penny they have. James gives polite smiles where needed and makes notes, trying to work out in his head what the best way to go would be. The client asks him if he’s comfortable representing them, and James has to bite his tongue to not say that he could not care less what the case is. 

James isn’t the only one going through the motions; Harry is doing the same. Now staying with his mum, he works in the local coffee place. He has to get used to it at first, but after a few shifts he can do it on auto-pilot, and it messes with his head. His days are filled with things to do, he offers to clean his mum’s house but it’s not enough. It’s empty. And when he sits down on the bed in the guestroom at night, he’s got no one.  
Instead of sleeping, his mind goes through the entire thing again. His wedding day. How anxious he felt, how much pressure he felt to do the right thing, despite not knowing what the right thing was. 

Tony’s words looping in his head, about how his family needed the wedding. Ste’s face as he stepped out of that car, the twinge in the pit of his stomach as Harry sensed something had gone wrong. The rejection of the man who calls himself his father, patting him on the back as Harry threw himself into his arms, needing the comfort and warmth of a parent but instead getting pushed away by a man who can’t say he has never cheated on someone before.  
It burns in his hollow chest, and Harry has never missed James more. They often lay awake at the same time, staring at the ceiling, and they are in each other thoughts more than once per night.

 

II

He does eventually go out. Marnie’s persistent nagging through texts and calls, invites for a coffee or a glass of wine became too much, and James decides to indulge her, hopefully also getting her off his back for a while. They share a bottle of wine in The Loft, and James chooses to ignore the looks of contempt his mother throws at the average clientele, hating the feeling of sitting in a public place with his mum, both of them feeling miserable and his mother making him feel like she is doing _him_ a favour. “Oh, I do wish you would get out more James,” his mother coos at him, grabbing his hand and holding it with her own, “sitting at home by yourself isn’t good for you.” She tuts, a look of pity and derogation aimed at her son, and James doesn’t have the fight in him to push back. 

“It’s just the way my life is, mother,” James says, swirling the wine around in his glass, “it always has been and it will stay that way.” That pulls a soft groan from his mother. “Oh, you don’t mean that. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” He resists the urge to snort at the notion that his mother would understand _anything_ about his love life, or ever made an honest attempt to. The woman has been in love with the man who has made his life hell from the day he was born, and James doubts she will ever _not_ love him.  
Marnie raises a hand and gently holds the side of James’ face, but her eyes are the kind of soft that means she thinks James is making mistakes left and right, not leading his life the way he should be, that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It leaves him cold.

They may not be in the same bar, but they are spending their evening the exact same way. Harry hasn’t seen his mother that much during the week, the both of them busy with work, and his mother not necessarily making an effort to connect. Now though, on a Friday, she asks if Harry would like to go for a drink. He can’t quite work out, looking at her face, if she’s doing it out of a feeling of obligation or because she actually wants to, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. 

Once they’re both seated in a local café, his mother nursing a glass of red wine and Harry a beer bottle in front of him, silence falls over them quickly. Harry is not completely sure how much his mother knows, and he doesn’t exactly feel the need to go over the whole thing with her. His mother clears her throat. “So, I’m guessing you didn’t come to stay with me because things at home are great.” Harry presses his lips together. “I was set to get married, but he found out I was seeing someone else.”

He hears himself say the words and immediately wants to take them back, lessen the sting, add something soothing. Because it wasn’t as clean cut as it sounds, was it? It becomes different once you factor in how much Harry hadn’t felt like he was able to talk to Ste about what he was thinking or feeling. How much pressure he felt to give his family something to be happy about. How confused he felt when he didn’t recognize himself in the person Ste claimed to love. Harry knows it doesn’t make the cheating less awful, but every person who has screamed at him, asking him how he could do such a thing, have also cheated themselves. Wanting James Nightingale was the first choice Harry made _for himself_ in a long time.

He can see his mother keeping a balanced expression on her face. She picks up her glass. “Do you miss him?” He knows she probably means Ste, but Harry’s thoughts drift to James. “Yes, very much.”

III

Harry is at work a few days later, sitting down at an empty table near the counter as he takes a break, when he notices the music. It’s usually something quiet and relaxed, often instrumental, something that can fade into the background easily. But this is a more classic piece. The volume is turned down a little, but there’s a male opera singer singing in long notes, going up and down in tone. 

It reminds him of the time James invited him to go to the opera together, how his initial reaction was that he _wanted_ to go, despite the risk of going out together and the fact that Harry isn’t particularly into opera.  
But James loves it, and the invitation felt like James reaching out to him, wanting to share something he loves with the man he loves. Harry hated not being able to go. Hated seeing the hopeful look drip off of James’ face. Hated the way Ste roped him into babysitting once again, with little regard for the possibility that Harry might also have things to do.

But at the end of that afternoon, when he was alone, he had grabbed his laptop and plugged in his earphones. He didn’t know how to spell ‘Pagliacci’ but Google understood nonetheless, and he read through the Wikipedia page, about the story of infidelity between two people, and then he listened to the arias of the play, closing his eyes and imagining himself, sitting next to James, both a little dressed up for the occasion.  
He thought about how he would probably find the look of awe and joy on James’ face more beautiful than the play itself. When he closed his laptop Harry was left with a deep sadness, wishing him and James could be the normal couple, doing things together. Ste commented later that evening on how quiet Harry was, but he shrugged it off. 

James manages to go outside a bit more, after a few weeks. Work had died down a little, and he found himself more capable to go out, to the shops, the library, anything. Being around people is the most difficult thing, the noise and buzz of the city centre often too heavy, and he can’t stop his chest from aching every time a couple holding hands passes him by. But he keeps trying. James knows hiding inside doesn’t solve anything. Harry’s gone now, and the hope of him coming back for James is too. He shouldn’t be waiting around. 

What does feel unfair though, is how everything reminds him of Harry. His brain leads everything back to him. Whether he would like this new coffee place that opened up. If that movie they’re playing at the cinema would be something he would watch.  
And then he passes by the Christmas market, and the ice rink that’s been set up. There’s couples skating hand in hand, one person pressed against the edge as the other gently tries to help them along, someone falling flat on the ice with laughter following. James rolls his eyes at the scene, and when he looks away he thinks of how, if he were here with him, Harry would smugly grin at him, grab his hand and lead them both towards the ice. 

He’s constantly haunted by the ghost of what could have been; not having had the time to figure out what they could be together so his mind tries to fill in the blanks. James wonders how long it will be like this. If his love life will remain empty for the rest of his life, nothing but a whisper of imagination he can’t touch. 

 

IV

And then things change.  
James doesn’t exactly know when it happened, but the rhythm in his days returns. It feels less like he has to get through 24 hours again and again and again, and instead days start to pass him by without him noticing. It’s better. 

There’s more room for breaks now, the need to cram his days as full as he can gone, and James breathes a little easier for it.  
Romeo texted him, out of the blue, and asked if they could have a coffee sometime. Not going, and once again breaking off contact with him, would mean James gets to avoid confrontation, and therefore would never have to be a dad. No expectations to live up to, and no insecurities staring him in the face.  
James often wished he didn’t have a father, when he was younger. Hell, he still does. Rather no father than the father he did have. But that was just it, wasn’t it. James wasn’t going to be the father Mac was and is. He hates the side of Mac that runs through his veins but he’ll be damned if he wasn’t going to try and be better. A better father than he ever had. 

And so he sits at a table in the café, a cappuccino in front of him and the boy who feels like a stranger, but is in fact his son. The conversation doesn’t flow easily, and James once again faces the fact that they grew up as separate people living separate lives, despite their biological connection. But instead of walking away, he acknowledges it. Offers to buy Romeo another drink. Asks him about his sister. In return, Romeo tells him about the music he listens to, and even though James has never heard of any of the things he mentions, he reaches out. “Maybe you could make me a playlist.” Romeo gives him a small smile and a nod, and when James smiles back Romeo’s face relaxes. “I can do that.”

On his way back home, James feels an immense relief, like he’s finally gotten somewhere with his son, and that he made the right decision. Just thinking about him, and the way he came to be, made James anxious and tense, sometimes sick to his stomach. It made the whole situation elusive, and the fact that there was no way for him to get control over it, made the whole thing worse.  
Now though, it seems like things are in place, and it brings a calmness that James hasn’t felt in a while.  
He sticks his key in the front door and opens it, unbuttoning his coat and hanging it, turning on a lamp and then walking over to the couch, sitting down. 

James looks around his apartment, and the happy feeling he carried all the way home, collapses. He doesn’t have the instinct often, but there’s something bubbling under his skin, wanting to slide off his tongue and find a home somewhere warm, where someone cares.  
He sighs. “Empty.” He mumbles it under his breath. He had a good day today. Better than a lot of days recently. And now he wants to share. Wants to tell someone about bonding with his son and feeling easier in his own skin.  
He looks at his phone. The thought occurs that he could call his mother, but James quickly realises he doesn’t just want to talk to _someone_ , he wants a specific person. The one he needs most. Harry.  
The step of trying to text or call him feels too dangerous, not knowing if he can take the rejection of Harry ignores him again, and so he lets it be. James falls asleep that night, somehow feeling more alone than ever.

V

At a certain point, it feels like time has run out for Harry. He’s been staying with his mom for a solid month and a half now, and if this get-away was supposed to be something to help get his head around things, something temporary, his time was up now. 

But he doesn’t feel ready. Not in the slightest. There should have been more progress, the days where James kept creeping into his thoughts should have lessened. None of that happened. Harry doesn’t feel like the person he was with Ste anymore, years ago, but he doesn’t feel that different from two months ago either.  
No grand transformation where he suddenly understood where he went wrong, how to find his true self. Looking back at it now, all he probably did was stick his head in the sand, gave himself the distraction and distance he needed. But there’s a life to get back to at some point.

Or maybe there isn’t. Now that he thinks about it, there’s nothing left in Hollyoaks for him to return to. Ste won’t want to look at him twice, and Harry wants to close that chapter for good. He doesn’t feel like he was a good enough friend to truly be missed by any of his mates. His own father _told_ him to leave, and hasn’t truly looked out for him in a long time.  
As he moves down the list, fear and nerves swirl in his gut as Harry thinks of the only person left. James. 

Simultaneously the person who he should stay away from, and the only one who Harry would ever want to come back to.  
He sits down on his bed in the guest room and looks out of the window. His mind wanders to the life he left behind, what it might feel like to be back home. The chance that James is waiting for him with open arms is small, Harry knows that. But it’s strange. He’s spent months, years, living a double life, only ever knowing stolen moments shared with James, and now that there is space and time for them to figure out if they could ever have been _more_ than that, Harry’s hesitant. 

He hasn’t been in contact with James since he left, the last memory of the man he loved being him getting pushed out of his life. It’s still alive and breathing, and it’s not hard to connect with that particular moment. The way James’ eyes widened as he realised that Harry came to him once Ste had figured out what was going on. The angry pull around his mouth as he screamed at Harry, who could feel the fabric of James’ shirt slipping through his fingers.  
Harry digs his phone out of his pocket and checks it. No messages or missed calls. His fingers tap for James’ contact before he really knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t even know if James has blocked his number by now. His finger hovers over the call button for a solid twenty seconds before Harry locks his phone and tosses it aside. He can’t do it. Not today. Maybe not ever.

\+ I

After a few days of muddling through a bad mood and uncomfortable feelings James knows he is going to have to address at some point, things seem to have balanced out again. It’s not great, but it’s not as bad as it was a small week ago. And James will take that.

It’s hard to get out of bed still, and his legs feel heavy as he steps into the shower. Making breakfast feels pointless but he pushes through. Every motion necessary to get ready for work takes too much effort, but he pushes his teeth together and keeps telling himself that if he can keep this up long enough, it will get easier somewhere along the line.

James is on the verge of being late when he finally manages to get out of the house. He opens the door and buttons the last of his coat when he stops. Harry is sitting on his doorstep, his back uncomfortably bent and crooked as his head leans back against the wood. There’s bags under his eyes and more than a light stubble on his cheeks.  
James stays still as he lets his eyes glide over him. Harry looks younger this way, yet also more mature and like he’s been dealing with too much already. He presses his lips together and shudders in a breath. “Okay.” James whispers, opening his front door and setting his briefcase aside inside. 

He walks back outside and moves one arm under Harry’s legs and the other under his back, lifting him and quickly walking back inside, closing the door with his foot. He carefully sets Harry down on his couch, sitting down next to him.  
Harry’s head falls against the backrest, slightly towards James, and it hits him how exhausted Harry looks. His eyes are sunken, his lips dry and chapped. It feels a little surreal, seeing him in a scene which could easily have been part of the domestic fantasy James had in his head for years, and yet it’s nothing like that.

James leans forward and brushes a few hairs away from Harry’s forehead, using his other hand to lightly shake his leg. “Hey, wake up.” He keeps his voice low, and Harry stirs. His eyes roll before focusing on James, and then they narrow. “What…” Harry croaks, rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to take in his surroundings.  
James gives him a few more seconds but he stays quiet. “You fell asleep on my doorstep.” He’s careful to keep his tone neutral, not wanting to audibly show how worried he is.  
“I thought I was…” Harry trails off, looking around the room before slowly standing up, “I need to go home.” He doesn’t sound sure of himself and once he’s on both feet, he wobbles as his knees almost give out, his head bowing down. 

James is fast to stick out his hands, holding Harry by his sides. “Alright, I’m getting you to a hospital.”  
Harry tries to push James off but it’s too weak to make a difference. As James tries to move the both of them towards the door, he can see Harry’s unfocused hazy gaze, the way he looks like he could faint any second.  
He moves Harry’s arm around his shoulder, but James pretty much has to carry Harry. Luckily there’s a cab quickly arriving, and James feels a small sense of relief once he has Harry seated in the car.  
Harry’s head falls backwards a little, and he mumbles something which James doesn’t hear. “Hmm?” James asks, and Harry’s head falls against his shoulder. “’M dizzy.” Harry mumbles, and James pulls him a little closer. “I know. It’ll be okay.” Harry falls away not long after that.

 

When Harry wakes up, the first thing he hears is a soft, steady beep. The first thing he sees, is James, his way too long legs tucked under himself as he’s curled up in the chair next to Harry’s bed, his head leaning in an angle that cannot be comfortable.  
Harry looks down at himself, now feeling a needle in his arm which is connected to a bag of fluid. 

The door opens, and a nurse gives him a soft smile. “Ah, you’re awake.” Harry tries to speak but his throat is too dry, so he nods. She walks forward and hands him a cup of water from the table beside his bed. “How are you feeling?” Harry takes a few sips and then clears his throat.  
“I’m alright. I’ve been better.” She gives him a nod, grabbing a clipboard from the front of his bed. 

His gaze lands on James again, still asleep. Harry suddenly remembers being in James’ house, not too long ago. He’s not sure how he got there, or how he ended up in hospital. He softens as he looks at James, and he thinks back to the time he was in hospital and James was pushed aside, left standing in the hall as Ste crawled next to Harry in his bed. He probably doesn’t deserve this, James still looking out for him. But it’s the first thing he’s got from him in _so long_ , and Harry grasps onto it with everything he’s got.

The voice of the nurse registers, and he snaps his eyes to her. “Sorry?” She laughs, now also looking at James. “Friend of yours?” Harry bites the inside of his cheek, a warm feeling spreading in his chest as he thinks of what James and himself are of each other. Despite it being incredibly vague and undefined, he comes back to one word, love. “Something like that, yeah.” He settles on, and he knows the nurse doesn’t miss the lingering look he gives James.  
“Were you dizzy before you came here?” She asks, and Harry gives her a nod. “Yes, everything feels kind of fuzzy.” She writes something down and then puts the clipboard back. “That makes sense. You’re dehydrated. We’ve put you on fluids, and we’re keeping you in at least today, and depending on how you’re recovering you can either go home then or in the next couple of days.”  
Harry thanks her and she exits the room. 

As the door falls closed, James shifts and groggily sits up straight. Once he looks Harry in the face and realises he’s awake, he’s at the side of his bed within seconds. “Hey, you’re awake.” Harry nods with a smile. “Yeah, and you are too.” James rolls his eyes but the concern and softness from his eyes doesn’t fade. “Have they told you what’s going on?”  
“Dehydration. I’m on fluids and they want to keep me here for at least today.” James grabs Harry’s hand at his words. “You’ve got to take better care of yourself Harry, I-“ He cuts himself off, biting his lower lip as he looks away. 

Harry thinks for a second, and then takes a deep breath. “I missed you.” It comes out clear and steady, and James looks back at him. He can see James doesn’t really know what to do with that, but he keeps going. “I now know what it’s like without you. And I don’t like it. Clearly.” Harry gestures to himself with a laugh, and James gives him a stern look.  
“I’ve always forced you to be a small part of my life, and I was an idiot to never truly offer you more. I’m sorry.” James grabs his hand a little tighter, and Harry gratefully squeezes back. “James, I mean it. I know we’re nowhere near ready for… anything. But I’d like us to try.” 

James clenches his jaw as he looks at Harry. “You really hurt me.” His words wash over Harry, and he knows he deserves to hear this. He also knows he’s going to keep trying. “I know. I’m not asking you to forget that ever happened. I’m asking if you’ll let me make it up to you.” James huffs a light laugh and looks to the side for a moment, something like endearment on his face.  
It stays quiet for long enough that Harry is ready to let the conversation sit like this, and then James grabs his face with both hands and presses their lips together. It’s short, but firm enough that Harry feels it in his toes.  
When James pulls back, he stays close. “Okay.” James says softly, and Harry nods, and James nods back, and then they’re laughing into the small space between them, and James leans forward to kiss Harry’s lips once more. 

They spend the rest of that day together in Harry’s hospital room. James buys a few magazines and some food from a shop nearby, and they read in silence until Harry laughs under his breath about something, and James asks what was funny and Harry reads it aloud. James carefully hands Harry a cup of tea and watches from the corner of his eye as he drinks it, needing to make sure he doesn’t spill it or burn his mouth. Harry takes a nap somewhere in the afternoon as James continues to read, and he pretends not to notice James declining calls from work.  
At one point, Harry keeps seeing James looking at him over his magazine, and he smiles lightly. “What?” He says with a chin tilt.  
James shrugs. “It’s good to have you back.”


End file.
